


Some Comfort Here

by ununoriginal



Series: Smirk [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-12
Updated: 2002-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of an escape, Ron finally makes some important revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Comfort Here

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest in response to the Snape/Ron (aged 16 or older) pairing challenge and the scenario 157 'Severus dreams'.

Strange things happen during a war. It changes events, people, minds, emotions. It can make bitter foes of the fastest friends, and create love amidst enemies since time immemorial. Things that seemed unthinkable, impossible in peace, suddenly make so much more sense, when one is at war.  
  
I sit pondering this phenomenon as I stare at the unconscious figure I have unceremoniously dumped upon the ground a few moments before. Despite the relative hardness of the stony ground within this cave that I have appointed our temporary shelter-cum-hiding-place, the man hardly stirs, remaining dead to the world. I wonder if that makes him, unconscious and thus unaware, the luckier of us two, considering the times and situation we are in.  
  
He doesn't look that greasy after all - the thought passes through me with some mild surprise as I shed my cloak to make some sort of bedding for him. It is the least I can do, seeing as he was injured in the line of duty, and the name of Good. Not to mention it is also my assigned mission to protect the man and bring him back alive, and heads will roll - namely, mine - if he dies on me after the agony of escaping the Dark Lord's clutches.  
  
Sighing in resignation, I kneel down next to my former Potions Master and begin the basic scan of his vital signs and to discover any internal injuries my eyes may have missed. The faint pulses of energy I detect worry me a little and I pick up one limp wrist to check his pulse. Fortunately, it still beats strong, if a little too fast for my liking. But at least, it is nothing so dire that it is beyond my rudimentary medi- wizard training to handle. And with luck, by tomorrow, he will have regained enough strength and control to Apparate back to our base camp at Hogsmeade.  
  
Now, the only thing left for me to do is wait, and conserve my energy, saving it to ensure that the wards and shielding spells around the cave are secure. None of the Death Eaters will be able to find us, even if they got to within five feet of the cave entrance. If there's one thing I am proud of achieving these past eight years since I've joined the ranks of those who kill or be killed, it is that my defensive skills against the Dark Arts are second to but a few.  
  
All those years training with Harry, and living with someone who used to be in the loop where dark magic was concerned does have its perks.  
  
Which is probably why I got saddled with the unenviable task of infiltrating one of the main Death Eater camps favoured by He-Who-Must-Not- Be-Named himself, and plucking out the traitor within their midst. Word had come in two days ago that the Dark Lord had finally decided that Snape's double-agent role had become too much of a liability, and that it should come to an end.  
  
A long, excruciating end.  
  
I'm grateful, perversely, for the 'long' part. It gave me enough time to enter the accursed hideout and reach the now-not-so-snarky git while the bastards were off on another bout of their self-congratulatory orgies.  
  
I lean back against the rock wall, closing my eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, but slumber eludes me. Images crowd my brain, pushing away tendrils of oblivion. Snape had been conscious when I first got to him, and the look upon his face before he realised I was there. it made me forget that I hate him. I open my eyes again to avoid the horror, but am forced instead to confront the very real issue.  
  
He's lying upon his back now, wrapped in my cloak in an effort to help keep him warm. His eyes are thankfully closed, ones that I remember being so dark and incisive, like they could bore through to your very soul and find it somehow lacking. I frowned slightly, recalling the times, before all this, when I had felt the pressure of that razor-sharp gaze upon me. It left me with the impression I was some sort of slug that had oozed a trail of slime across one of his precious cauldrons.  
  
I, in turn, would pull my lover closer and glare back at him in challenge. We would do silent battle until one or the other looked away, or was distracted. It never really was a victory or defeat, but something we had always done. And I was alright with that - we couldn't truly be enemies, but I definitely wanted to draw the line at being friends.  
  
At least that was my worthless opinion on the situation.  
  
It had been a persistent point of contention between the grey-eyed snake-of- my-life and I, and I have the sneaking suspicion I was arranged to rescue the greasy bastard in some misguided hope that it would help 'improve our relations'. If the two of us weren't stuck deep in enemy territory, with dark wizards crawling all over the place like maggots seeking to descend upon our flesh, I would be laughing. Really, really hard.  
  
I still remember the eyes flashing steel and the scathing words that accompanied them.  
  
***  
  
"Oh, get over yourself, Ron! How much longer are you going to carry on with this ridiculous feud with Snape? You already know that he's not really working for You-Know-Who, and the sacrifices he has had to make go far beyond what most Aurors would have done. Even Harry is on speaking terms with him! Why are you being so bloody, damned stubborn?"  
  
"He doesn't like me. I can see it in the way he talks and looks at me," I maintained obstinately. Privately, deep down, in some hidden, repressed corner of my soul, the Ronald Weasley that resides there admits that he's always thought Professor Severus Snape believed that his favoured, prize student could have done better than condescending to consort with one of the Weasleys, so far beneath his station.  
  
"Come on! He's like that to everyone! Even Lupin! Do you think that stops them from sleeping in the same bed?"  
  
God, mental images that I SO did not need. "But-but he's Snape!" Granted, it was not my best answer. I was obviously not on form that day.  
  
The next thing I knew a pillow had hit my face.  
  
I had retaliated, and we had temporarily forgotten about Snape, much to my relief.  
  
***  
  
The goofy grin that I know has been playing across my lips fade as I resurface into present reality, and try to reconcile the arrogant man I've always associated with the Head of Slytherin House with this near-broken wreck before me.  
  
But all such thoughts vanish as a small sound distracts me. Swiftly, I whip out my wand, battle-hardened instincts taking over. The sound comes again, the tiniest moan, bordering on a whimper. I lower my wand in astonishment as I realise that it is coming from Snape.  
  
Sometime while I was lost in my memories, Snape has curled up on his side, face towards me. The pale, sallow features are twisted into a grimace, and his brow is furrowed, as if the greatest weight in the world rests upon his shoulders. After a moment, he twitches and jerks as if in pain, curling even more into himself.  
  
It suddenly strikes me that he is dreaming, of what it is only too evident. I curse the Death Eaters and their thrice-damned souls as I approach him.  
  
As I reach out to touch his shoulder, Draco's voice floats into memory, softened and husky after our last mad bout of sex. "You know, one of these days you'll have to stop being so mule-headed and admit it. The fact is, you no longer hate Snape - you might even respect him a little - but you're just too proud to acknowledge i-"  
  
I had sealed his mouth with my own.  
  
"Hey, Snape, wake up, you git." I poke him lightly. "Snap out of it - it's only a nightmare." When he ignores me and continues to suffer in slumber, I grab his shoulders and shake him hard.  
  
In response, his hand suddenly shoots out, catching hold of my wrist in a convulsive grip. "Albus? I didn't tell them anything. Know that I kept my secrets to the last," he rasps, forcing the words out with each gasping breath. His eyes are open now, but they see nothing, caught up in the throes of whatever internal horror is now plaguing him.  
  
I shake him again. "Wake up! I'm not Dumbledore - it's me, Ron Weasley, Professor!" A sign of how alarmed I'm getting - I haven't called him by his title in years.  
  
He pulls himself even closer to me, another hand clutching my robes. He's now glaring at me, and for an instant, I think he's awake and has recognised who he's clinging to. But then he opens his mouth and he spits Lucius Malfoy's name. "You may have gotten me, Lucius," I almost flinch at the venom and the hate, far beyond anything I've seen him express towards me, "but Draco will never, ever prostitute himself to Voldemort. He's found something. someone infinitely better than that!"  
  
His eyes roll back in his head and he collapses again. I let him sink down, stunned at the revelation. I nearly want to pinch myself in order to ensure that I am not dreaming as well.  
  
I put my faith in a few basic things: my hair is RED, Harry will defeat Voldemort (somehow), Hermione knows everything, the sun comes up in the east, and that Snape hates me. And now, thanks to him, one of the fundamental tenets of my life is crumbling right before my eyes, and he manages to achieve it merely by having a delirious dream.  
  
Damn.  
  
Damn, damn, DAMN.  
  
After making several impactful acquaintances with the rock wall behind me, I bring my attention back to Snape again. I look at him, trying for the first time in my history with him to be objective.  
  
There are things there that I have simply never seen before.  
  
I feel numb, but I know that is just the shock. Eventually it will wear off, and the guilt and self-recrimination will come marching in.  
  
His brow is creased, and his struggles have caused strands of hair to fall across his face, silver mixed with the black. I don't think I recall him ever having white hair - he's always been so.dark, in my mind's eye.  
  
Before I even realise it, my hand has reached out again, sweeping the hair away from the troubled visage and tucking it gently behind his ear. I do that for Draco sometimes, and I question why it is I could unconditionally love and trust a descendant of the Malfoys, yet not have given him the benefit of the doubt?  
  
*You proud, obstinate mule.*  
  
I know.  
  
I'm drawing away my hand when Snape suddenly turns his head, cheek gravitating towards my fingers, as if attempting to nuzzle them. I freeze, descending into shock once more as one of his hands catch mine, bringing it to his lips.  
  
His lips feel so soft, smooth, but dangerously cool. And then he whispers a name that jolts me out of my amazement. "Remus."  
  
Shit, he thinks I'm Professor Lupin! I try to free myself half-heartedly, worried that his dreaming mind might be too fragile to take rejection, in any of its forms. While I sit there indecisively, his other hand comes up as well, and he threads our fingers together in a firm clasp. "Remus. I have to say this before the chance passes me by."  
  
He's looking at me again, seemingly lucid, but his expression tells me he is not. It isn't something I've perceived upon him before, but I recognise it. I see myself, when I'm looking at Draco.  
  
"I love you, Remus, and you will never know how sorry I feel that I am going to leave you."  
  
I can't stand it. I try to snap him out of it again. I feel like an intruder of the worst kind, trespassing on something that should be so utterly private. "Please, Professor, wake up."  
  
But he is too far gone, ensnared and buffeted within the arms of Morpheus. "Still, I'm glad that you're finally here, and that I am allowed the chance to see you one more time at the end of my life-"  
  
"But I'm not Remus, Professor. And no one's going to die." My whispers fall upon deaf ears.  
  
"At least I will die satisfied, knowing it will be in your arms. It's warm there - you've always kept me warm." With growing trepidation, I discover that tiny tremors are wracking his thin, near-skeletal frame.  
  
There was no need for hesitation. For the first time in my life, I embraced Severus Snape. If only it were under more hopeful circumstances.  
  
"Remus." His hand came up to gently stroke my cheek. "Kiss me."  
  
I lean forward the few requisite inches left between us so that my mouth can touch his. I press my lips against his chilly ones for a few seconds. When I turn my head aside, his cold lips brush a burning trail across my skin.  
  
"I've always loved you, Remus." The near-inaudible murmur almost makes me weep. I would have given almost anything in the world for Professor Lupin to be here instead of me.  
  
I miss Draco so, so much.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
I pull Snape closer, tightening my hold around him. Gradually, his breathing calms, and we lie in silence.


End file.
